


A Christmas Miracle

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Christmas, Emotional, M/M, Original Character Death(s), POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 20:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17168954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: Just...  It's a Christmas fic, okay?  Ethan, Will, emotions, and... Christmas.(And... Fine.  I've reached a new low in regards to not knowing how to write a summary - apologies. ;-) )





	A Christmas Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Ethan & Self-Beta'd.  
> ~ Christmas fic. (Don't know why, but I can't help myself.)
> 
> ~ Although I actually finished this last week, I've been too (overwhelmed!) busy with Christmas and relatives and attempting to placate my cat who hates visitors with an all consuming 'clearly they're gonna get me, therefor I must hide at all times!' passion - hence why it's ever so slightly late. Sorry! It's only Boxing Day though, so, really, that still counts as Christmas, right?!
> 
> ~ Here's hoping everyone is having an absolutely wonderful festive season!

================  
A Christmas Miracle  
by TalithaX  
================

 

“So, it's true then. Christmas miracles really do happen.”

Coming to a reluctant stop, I dredge up a professionally bland smile that's as forced as it is fake and, not for the first time, wish I was just about anywhere else on earth than here. “Director Sloane,” I state with practised politeness as the head of the CIA eyes me up with her usual mixture of curiosity and disdain, “I must thank you again for...”

“The Great Agent Hunt,” she interrupts with a hint of a smirk as, folding her arms across her chest, she makes a very obvious point of looking me up and down. “Wearing a visitor's pass and walking through the front door of Langley, no more and no less.” Pausing, she drops her arms to her side and, with a quick glance towards the ceiling, shrugs. “Are you sure you wouldn't perhaps feel more comfortable... dropping in... on us unannounced?” 

There being nothing to be gained from so much as acknowledging her attempt at either sarcasm or, as is more likely the case, to catch me off guard, I merely echo her shrug and pick up where I'd been cut off. “Thank you again for both taking the call and making the arrangements. I really do appreciate...”

“It's true, you know,” she comments, once again calmly talking over the top of me as though I'd never even opened my mouth. “You really are the star of your own Most Wanted poster. It takes pride of place in the cafeteria.”

“I hope it's a good photo, then,” I murmur, only just controlling the urge to look pointedly at my watch as the minutes continue to tick down and my confidence, which, and let's be honest here, was never that great to begin with, in my self imposed – humanitarian – mission continues to ebb away.

“Hunley made a point of both updating it and enlarging it himself,” Director Sloane responds, her expression softening for all of a blink-and-you'd-miss-it split second. “I leave it there as much in his memory as I do a constant reminder to all that Langley shall never be infiltrated like that again.”

“I only did what I had to,” I respond as, just about having had enough of this, I take a step towards the elevators. “I'm sure you would have done the same.”

“He makes a point of sitting with his back to it,” she states bluntly as, clearly seeing no point in answering me, she suddenly reaches out her hand and places it not exactly lightly on my arm. “Listen to me, Hunt. Just because I'm in agreement with your plan and have made the necessary arrangements to clear his leave of absence, don't for a moment think that the decision is anyone other than his. You're not to...”

“Of course the decision is his,” I mutter, cutting her off and earning myself a narrow eyed glare of disapproval for my troubles. “Now, Director Sloane, unless you're planning to escort me personally to the fourth floor, I really think I need to be on my way.”

“All I can say is... Thank God you're not my problem,” the Director replies, gesturing towards the elevators with what may well be a look of relief on her face. “Go. Present your case and then get out of here.”

“Merry Christmas, Director Sloane,” I respond, giving her a relieved smile of my own as, without waiting to hear if she bothers to reply in kind or not, I stride across Langley's cold and imposing foyer and, after jabbing my finger repeatedly in the call button, wait none-too-patiently for the elevator doors to open. The unfamiliar and disconcerting sense of unease that's been hovering around me ever since the Acting Secretary hit me with the bad news just over two hours ago threatening to reach almost claustrophobic proportions, I step into the elevator and press the button for the fourth floor. I can tell myself that what I'm doing is, without any hint of doubt, right. I can even tell myself that I'm being downright stupid and need to get a damn grip, but...

It doesn't help.

I caused this.

And now, even if I'm little more than the messenger in this instance, I have to face – quite literally – up to it.

And...

… Just call me psychic, but I don't think it's going to go very well. In fact, if it doesn't make my encounter with Director Sloane seem positively pleasant in comparison then I'll actually be very surprised.

Still, as always, and this in itself makes my second visit to Langley little different than my first all those years ago, I do what I have to do.

Just as I...

… Did what I felt I had to seven months ago.

The elevator doors gliding silently open on the fourth floor, I walk out of it and, as directed by the bored looking guard wearing the Santa hat at the front desk, turn to the left. The Agency already being on skeletal staff due to all the leave being taken for the festive season, I don't pass anyone as I make my way along the corridor and, needing them where I can get them today, I take this to be a positive. Reaching the frosted glass sliding doors that lead into the Analyst's Division, I use my coded visitor's pass to let me in and, as a dozen or so pairs of eyes glance up from their computer screens to give me the once over, walk across the floor as though I belong there. The office being on the cavernous side, and the small number of analysts still hard at work being scattered far enough away from each other to be unable to whisper that – Dear God, the horror! – the man from the cafeteria's Wanted posted appears to be in their midst, the quick tap-tapping of fingers flying across keyboards as I home in my destination tells me that they have to emailing the news around instead and for a brief moment I want to stop and bow to my audience. Time not so much being of an essence as my desire to get this over and done with is however, I simply ignore them and after reaching the large office in the corner of the room, push open the closed door without bothering to knock.

Walking in to the airy, but sparsely and impersonally furnished room, I pull the door shut and mentally brace myself for what's about to come. Yes. My intentions are good, and I firmly believe that I'm doing the right thing, but, and given how things currently are, it's a big, possibly even insurmountable 'but', I...

… I just don't know how my presence, let alone my request, is going to be received.

The man behind the desk jerking his head up at the uninvited interloper daring to barge in to his private sanctum, he gazes at me over the screen of his laptop, slightly open mouthed and silent for a few seconds as his expression changes from one of mild annoyance at having been interrupted to one of loathing if not utter contempt.

“If that mask is some sort of a joke, you will notice that I'm not laughing,” William Brandt, the CIA's Senior Analyst and, contrary to the dedication I apply to indicating differently, my favourite person in the entire world, announces coldly as he glares absolute daggers at me. “In fact, I have to say I find it in very poor taste.”

“Uh...” Feeling decidedly unwelcome and as though I may have made a terrible mistake in having gone down this route, I lightly touch the fingers of my right hand to my cheek and give a small shrug. “I get the feeling you won't want to hear this, but... Uh... This isn't a mask.”

“In that case, for what do I owe the... dubious... honour of your presence, Agent Hunt?” Will queries, still glaring at me as leans back in his chair and folds his arms defensively across his chest. Dressed in – one of my favourite looks on him – a dark charcoal waistcoat worn buttoned up over a white shirt and light grey silk tie, he looks as professional as he does tired and, even though it's abundantly clear he in no way feels the same way, I can't deny that it's good to see him. 

Really good.

I just wish that – things were different – I was here for another reason, that's all.

Accepting that neither small talk ('How are you?') nor facetiousness ('It's nice to see you, too.') is the way to go here, I take a seat in the chair in front of the desk and launch straight into just why it is I'm here, subjecting myself to both a visit to Langley and Will's obvious dismay. “The IMF being stretched thin for field agents at the moment, Acting Secretary Palmer put Benji in charge of a team sent to Bucharest to investigate a terrorist cell that was believed to be forming in the area. It was meant to be an observe and monitor mission and, as such, the team consisted of Benji, Michael Bianchi, and two rookies, Karen Smith and Paul Tran. Somehow, and, no, we don't yet know the why or how, the team was made and their base attacked. Bianchi, Smith, and Tran were killed, while...”

“Benji!” Will interrupts, his expression changing to one of shock and concern as, no longer focussed on maintaining his façade of defensiveness, he leans forward and gives me a worried look. “Please tell me that Benji made it out...”

“Benji made it out,” I confirm with a nod. “He took two bullets though and is in a stable, yet sore and sorry for himself, condition in Colţea Hospital. And... That's why I'm here. Having been charged with the task of formally identifying the bodies along with making the necessary arrangements to bring them home, I'm flying out to Bucharest via London later this afternoon, and...” Here goes nothing and all that. “Will, I... I appreciate that this has come out of nowhere, but I'm hoping that, solely for Benji's sake, you might consider coming with me. Just... Not only is he injured, but he'd also be in shock and taking the loss of his team pretty hard, and... uh... it's Christmas, which you know as well as I do is usually his favourite time of the year, and I just thought he'd really benefit from having a friend sitting by his hospital bed. I mean, I'll be there when I can, but I know I'm going to be busy all of tomorrow and, what with it being Christmas Eve and everything, I honestly think it would be better for Benji if someone could be there with him...” 

Trailing off, I risk a look at Will and find him looking back at me with a bland, unreadable expression on his face that I know from experience is masking a very thorough thought process going on in his wonderfully complex brain and, because it's better than being glowered at, take it as something of a positive. “Again, I know that this is asking a lot of you, but I've had it cleared by Director Sloane, and...”

“Damn it, Ethan!” Will suddenly exclaims as, looking clearly agitated, he abruptly pushes his chair back and gets to his feet. “Just... Fuck! What am I to you? Some sort of marionette that you get off on dictating to? I...” Taking a deep breath, he positions himself behind the barrier of his chair and clenches his fingers into the leather back. “Just... Seriously. When will you stop interfering in my life and making decisions for me, huh?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“So, what's the endgame here?” Luther asks as, bringing the car to a smooth stop at a red light, he scowls out through the windscreen at all the traffic clogging the road to the airport.

“Endgame?” I echo, glancing at the clock and noting that, notwithstanding both the elements and other road users, there's still thirty minutes before my flight. “I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to Bucharest for the quite frankly thankless task of identifying bodies and, just in case you weren't aware of this particular part, phoning their family to lie through my teeth about how their loved ones just happened to die. If you can see an endgame anywhere in that, then, hey, you've got a far greater imagination than I do.”

“I'm not talking about the... why... you're going to Romania,” Luther replies, giving me a sympathetic look as he reaches over and gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, “as that I unfortunately get. You've been dealt a shit hand with this particular task and, I'm telling you, man, I don't envy you one little bit.”

“Yeah, well... Someone has to do it,” I mutter. “And seeing as I've been going stir crazy stuck lurking around HQ while my stupid ribs and lungs take forever to heal, that someone may as well be me. So... Whatever. It is what it is, and I still don't get what you mean by... endgame.”

“I think you do, but, whatever... As it appears that I have to, I'll spell it out for you.” Taking his foot off the brake, Luther drives his BMW forward an entire five car lengths before the lights return to red and, with a huff of annoyance, he once again brings it to a stop. “Brandt. What's your endgame there?”

He just had to go there, didn't he? He just had to pose the one question that, assuming Will even joins me, which, given how things went in his office I wouldn't want to bet my life on, I wouldn't have a fucking clue how to answer. 

“Again, I don't know what you're talking about,” I respond in a neutral tone as, despite knowing he'll only ignore it, I shoot Luther a – 'just don't go there' – warning look. “A, there's no guarantee he'll even come, and, B, this is about Benji and only Benji. Our past is... uh... just that, past.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luther drawls as this time he manages to get the car to the head of the line before being made to stop again. “You keep telling yourself that, Hunt.”

“If you saw the way he looked at me you wouldn't be questioning it.”

“Do you think he'll even show?”

“No idea.”

“What about for Benji?”

“For Benji, I would think yes. Having to travel with me, however...” I shrug and, purely because this is just one of those masochistic sorts of day, waste my energy on giving Luther another warning look. “Just... Leave it, yeah? I asked him to come because I know it would be good for Benji and that, seriously, is all there is to it. It's not about me, or our past, or... anything like that. Will, with good reason, I might add, hates me and if he shows up it will solely be for Benji. I know that. He knows that. And you'd do well to accept it, too.”

Luther – and he damn well knows it – having hit on a raw nerve, I settle back in my seat and pointedly close my eyes. Regardless of whether he believes it or not, I don't have an endgame, or anything for that matter, in mind for Will. And the main reason for that is because it's not something, given how I ended things, that I'd have any right to so much as contemplate. I reached out to Will today for no other reason than I know how much being by his side would benefit Benji. When Palmer told me what had happened and that I was being sent to Bucharest, my first thought was how great it would be if I could convince Will to join me for Benji's sake, and that, really, was as far as I thought it through. 

Benji.

It's all for Benji.

Not...

Not for any other reason.

The feelings I hold for Will, the ones that haven't changed despite my successfully thought out and actioned plan to push him away from me seven months ago, don't, and... can't... enter in to it.

As I've basically made a career out of, I did what I did to Will because I felt I had to. Unable to protect him during a mission that went haywire, I accepted that he'd be safer away from me and, as it was going to take months of rest and healing before he'd even be up to taking, let alone passing, the physical exam to be released back into the field, I took matters into my own – coldly clinical – hands and arranged for him to be seconded to a safe and secure desk job within the CIA. It hurt. Oh God, did it hurt. But it was something that I had to do. Not for me, but for Will himself. I set him up in a new job that would keep him busy while he went through rehab and, not wanting to draw out the inevitable by lurking around to see if he settled, I threw myself back into the field and... effectively disappeared.

I could have done things better.

In hindsight, it goes without saying that I... should... have done things better. 

Mentally wounded by both the near miss and the sight of him lying all bruised, battered, and attached to machines, in the hospital bed, I reacted in the only way that I knew how and, better late than never, I set out to protect the man I loved.

Love...

By imposing, as opposed to discussing or attempting to work through, my ideas of protection on my lover, I destroyed everything and to this very day, during the incredibly few times I allow myself to think about it, that is, I don't know if I regret it or, because it's easier, feel... nothing. I did what I had to and, yes, because Director Sloane thinks he's fantastic and barely lets him out of Langley, he's certainly a hell of a lot safer than he'd be being dragged around the world with me. He also, most likely because he can still hardly believe just how coldly I went about leaving him, now hates and wants nothing to do with me.

So...

It worked.

Will's safe, I no longer have to worry about him, and life goes on.

I rarely – because, okay, it hurts too much – think about him, I definitely don't torture myself with thoughts of 'what could have been', and, again, life, albeit far more miserably than before, just goes on.

Even now, now that I've seen him today and there's a chance, however small, that he'll travel to Bucharest with me, I'm not thinking of anything other than helping Benji and the task at hand.

I...

I just can't.

“So, if he were to forgive you and...”

“Trust me, he won't,” I mutter, cutting Luther off as, opening my eyes, I see that we've finally reached the outskirts of Dulles.

“But if he...”

“It's not going to happen, Luther, and... Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but what's it to you anyway?”

“You mean other than you were in a better place when he was around?” Luther surprises me by replying. “For someone allegedly so on the ball, Ethan, you forget that I've known you for a long time and, believe me, these past seven months have hardly been a walk in the park.”

“Lark and The Apostles...”

“I'm not talking about missions, and you know it.”

“Whatever... It doesn't matter,” I murmur as Luther finally stops the car in a designated drop-off point. “Tell you what... I'll make being the life of the party my New Year's Resolution.”

“Yeah, right. And now it's my turn to go with... Whatever.” Reaching between the seats, Luther retrieves my bag from the back seat as I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door. “I get that this isn't a conversation you want to have but, wanting to have the last word here, all I'm going to say here is... I hope things, whatever they may be, work out.”

Taking the bag from him with a nod of thanks, I climb out of the car and drop it on the pavement before crouching down and, with a grim smile, meeting Luther's gaze. “Thanks for both the lift and the pep talk. You know how it is though, what will be, will be. Now... Given that I know you need it after this year, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas with your family and, yes, I promise I'll call you if I need anything.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Ethan,” Luther responds, fixing me with one of his patented 'I know you're not going to listen to me but I'm going to say it anyway' looks as I stand up and begin to close the door. “Hopefully it will bring you some of the happiness you deserve.”

There being nothing I could possibly reply to Luther's statement that he'd want to hear, I merely finish shutting the door and, after giving him a token wave as he pulls into traffic, pick up my bag and head into the crowded terminal. Having spent far too much of my life in either planes or airports to share the general public's enthusiasm, going on the noise and oddly happy looking people everywhere, for air travel, I pay the masses little heed and, after checking the departure board for my boarding gate, simply weave through them as though they weren't even there. Thanks to the British Airways flight I'm taking to London taking off from the very last gate at Dulles, I finally reach it just as the first boarding call is announced over the loud speaker and suddenly, if not completely randomly, what it is that's about to happen becomes very real. Not the flight itself, or even the unpalatable task waiting for me tomorrow in Bucharest, but the question mark over whether Will has found a way to accept my invitation or not.

It goes without saying that my visit to Langley did not end on a high note. Will, having taken offence at being told that, why, yes, I'd once again gone behind his back and organised his life for him, could barely bring himself to look at me after his outburst and, knowing better than to outstay my already extremely shaky welcome, I simply placed an envelope containing the boarding passes and itinerary on his desk before getting the hell out of there. Because of this I have no idea of knowing whether he'll be here or not. Knowing him, or at least knowing how he used to be, I like to think that he will. Not, strangely enough, for me, but for Benji who he's always been close with and who I know, even if Benji has never come out and said to me in so many words, he keeps in touch with.

On the other hand though, there's me. A massive sticking point if ever there was one. Given what I did to him, and even I'm not so self absorbed to know that, regardless of the purity of my intentions, I could have gone about it better, he's completely in his right to want to avoid me at all costs. In fact, by simply passing through his office this morning I've probably already ruined Christmas for him.

So...

I don't know.

I just don't know at all.

Scanning the boarding gate as the passengers, still with what I'm beginning to think is an unnatural sense of enthusiasm, slowly begin to board the plane, I can't see any sign of him and, as the crowd thins and I know I'm going to have to make a move myself, I start to feel a sense of disappointment settle over me. I've got no-one to blame other than myself, and deep down I know I was clutching at straws to have even gone there in the first place, but still, I just...

… Hoped.

Hoped that he was still just... Will... and could have seen through my involvement and put himself out for Benji.

Biting back a sigh as I notice that the gate is now empty of passengers and the flight attendant at the desk is giving me an impatient look, I pull my boarding pass out of my pocket and, after waving it at her, dutifully make my way on to the plane. The Christmas period literally being the equivalent of hell on earth in regards to travelling anywhere, let alone at the last minute like I'm having to, the only seats still available when – mentally crossing my fingers – I went to book this morning were in Business Class and, as another attendant takes my bag and directs me to my seat, I see to both my surprise and delight that Will has already taken his seat by the window. 

Questioning how he managed to get there without me having spotted him not, as for all I know he flashed his CIA credentials and has been sitting there for an hour, going to achieve anything, I simply give him a nod by way of greeting and take my seat. Still dressed, although now with the addition of a jacket, in the charcoal suit he was wearing this morning and with noise cancelling headphones hanging around his neck, he watches impassively as I do up my seatbelt before retrieving his iPad from the side of the seat and giving a small shrug.

“I'm doing this for Benji,” he states very much matter-of-factly, reaching up and shifting his headphones into place over his ears, “and the only reason I'm even here is, as I'm sure you already know, there were no better flights available.”

“Well, I'm sure Benji will appreciate it,” I reply, hiding my relief at finding him here behind an impassive look of my own as, clearly having said all he wanted to say to me, Will settles back in his seat and focusses his attention on the screen of his tablet. Too happy, even though I know full well it's not going to do me any good, at just having Will next to me to be bothered by his – disdain – lack of interest, I relax back in my seat, close my eyes, and, because it's a skill I mastered decades ago, am asleep before the plane has even taken off.

~*~

Waking to both the scent of, and the sound of the food cart, I open my eyes, stretch as much as I can without having to get out of my seat, and have only just got my tray table in place as the flight attendant reaches our row. Will, after removing his headphones, gives the woman the sort of smile I know won't be shared in my direction any time soon, if indeed ever again, as she hands him his meal, and the way she smiles back makes me think that he's actually made her day. Although, because it's polite and I'd been going to do so anyway, I too smile at her as she places the meal down on the tray table, she barely acknowledges my existence and simply continues on her way. Almost forgetting how things are between us, it's on the tip of my tongue to pass a joking comment to Will about being made to feel like a second class citizen when, just at the last second, reality kicks in and I remain silent.

He's here, but as far as I'm concerned anyway, he's not... really. Not in the way he used to be, and certainly not in a way that I can take for granted.

In flight meals, even in Business Class, always being more about necessity than pleasure, I take the lid off the main meal and, without even bothering to attempt to work out just what it's supposed to be, start to eat. Having worked out a long time ago that it's best to eat, even if you don't know what it is and it tastes suspiciously like over salted cardboard, whenever there's food in front of you because there's always the chance you won't know when you'll get your next meal, I can, not that I'm particularly proud of this, eat just about anything. Will however, especially in regards to what gets dished up on flights, has always been far more picky than I am and generally only eats the bread roll and the dessert. Because of this, his clear preference for desserts and my lack of interest as to what I put in my stomach, I used to give him mine without even thinking about it and, perhaps in a case of some things just never changing, I simply pick my dessert up once I've finished my main meal and place it down on his tray. 

This unexpected move obviously startling Will, he stares at the dessert, which may or may not be a cheesecake of some description, for a moment or two before murmuring, “Thanks,” and returning his attention to finishing the bread roll. Pleased, if not a little bit relieved, that this 'blast from the past' was accepted easily enough, I go back to picking my way through my tray of food and we eat in – all things considered – reasonably comfortable silence.

Once we've finished and the attendant has replaced our meal trays with cups of a hot, bitter liquid masquerading as coffee, I notice that Will, his expression pensive, is watching me out of the corner of his eye. Before I can offer up a cautious smile by way of inviting him to speak up if there's something on his mind though, he sighs and turns his head so that he's gazing out through the window.

“I told myself that, as there wasn't any point anyway, I wasn't going to say anything,” Will murmurs in a quiet, dull tone that, courtesy of the relentless drone of the plane's engines I have to lean forward in my seat to hear. “I... I don't want to say it. Hell. I don't even know why I'm being stupid enough to open my mouth now, but...” Trailing off, Will sighs again and shrugs. “Do you have... any... idea just how much you hurt me? Or how... worthless... your abrupt dismissal made me feel?”

“I...” Hanging my head as the mouthful of coffee I'd just taken sticks in my throat and I start to feel – like the lowest form of life on earth – slightly ill, I sit back and whisper the only response that, really, I can.

“I'm sorry. I... I don't know how, or... uh... where even to begin, but I... Somehow I'll try to make it up to you...”

“The thing is,” Will softly replies as, glancing over his shoulder, he gives me a sad look that pierces me to my – rotten – core, “I'm not sure that you can...”

Fuck.

I'm not saying I didn't deserve that, as I did, I really, really did, but...

… Did it have to hurt quite so much?

“Can...” Failing in my attempt to look Will in the eye, I sigh and just blindly press ahead anyway. “Can I at least try?”

Shrugging, Will returns his headphones to his ears and goes back to gazing out the window. “Let's face it, it's not like I can stop you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I'm not usually one for introspection. In fact, it's fairly safe to say it's something I actively avoid. As I've heard on a number of occassions, hell, I seem to recall it even having been written on some of my school reports, I'm more of a... doer than a thinker. This evening, however, as I make my way through the festive lit streets of Bucharest from the morgue where I spent most of my day to the blandly Western hotel room that I'll spend Christmas Eve alone in, I feel... flat. Not depressed, exactly, as I'm confident it will only be a fleeting feeling, but out of sorts and, as I felt in Langley's foyer, as though I'd rather be just about anywhere else.

It's not Bucharest, which looks beautiful on this both damp and chilly winter's evening, or even the masses of happy looking people, some of which are joining together and singing carols as they walk, making their way home from work for the holiday, that are getting to me. It's...

… Everything.

Everything is just getting to me today and I feel like invisible walls are closing in and pressing down on me. I'd run, in the hope of clearing my head and, if nothing else, killing time, but... Where? I have nowhere to go other than the motel and, even if I was wearing sneakers, the rain slicked streets are hardly conducive to running anyway.

So...

… I'm stuck.

It's Christmas Eve, I've just had the worst day for...

… Seven months.

The day Will got injured. That, given that the aftermath will be with me forever, was worse, but today and the hideous task of informing the agents' family of their deaths just in time to ruin Christmas was, in turn, worse than, say, the whole Walker-Plutonium-Lane-Bomb-Helicopter debacle of two months ago. Mission work, even if it's a threat to life, limb, and sanity, is at least action orientated, where as this... This was one not overly huge step off sitting on my ass all day and simply... stewing... in my own company.

Lying to the families about how their loved ones died, liaising with the various funeral directors and airlines in respect to getting their bodies home, the sight of Benji looking all beat up and subdued in the hospital bed, Will barely having said a word to me since the flight to Heathrow, the fact that it's fucking Christmas on top of it all and just about every living soul that crosses my path is clearly happier than I am, it...

It's just too much.

I'm tired, as cold as I am wet, and, fine, I'll admit it, I'm miserable.

Accepting, even if I kept it buried deep in the back of my mind and applied a fair bit of effort into ignoring it, that I must have hurt Will was one, entirely unpleasant, thing, but hearing him actually say it... Oh God. Hearing him say it was something else again. I still, because I have to, and because to admit otherwise now would just finish me off, believe I was right to do what I did. Just as, and this thankfully was proven when I heard the happiness in Benji's voice this morning when Will walked into his room after I'd left it, I was right to reach out to Will about coming with me to Bucharest.

I just, even though I shouldn't, wish things were different.

But...

… They're not.

And this is why I hate the rare occassions when I mistakenly get caught in thinking myself into ever decreasing, going nowhere circles.

Yes. It's Christmas. And yes, today sucked. And yes, I can still hear the hysterical sobbing of Smith's mother and the obvious disbelief of Bianchi's father. And yes, it's absolutely my fault Will hates me.

But, so what? That's life, and tomorrow is another day and all that bullshit.

Reaching the hotel just as the rain finds a way to get in between the neck of my jacket and scarf in order to drip down my back, I stride through the foyer in the direction of the elevators and firmly tell myself to get a fucking grip. Feeling sorry for myself, if not going all out and wallowing in self-pity isn't going to achieve a damn thing and the quicker I get this through my fool head the better. I'll go to my room, have a shower, order room service, and maybe, just maybe, drink my way through the contents of the mini-bar before passing out. As plans go there's no denying it's pretty average, but as the alternative is staying sober and more than likely staring longingly at the wall my room shares with Will's, it's the one I'm going to go with.

Once the elevator, with its tinny electronic Christmas music sounding like nails being scraped repeatedly down a blackboard to my ears, has deposited me on my floor, I walk along the corridor and, without being fully conscious of what I'm doing, come to a stop outside Will's door. Although I have no idea of knowing whether he's even on the other side of it or not, it suddenly doesn't matter one tiny iota as my 'suck it up, princess' attempt at a pep talk dies a very quick and very painful death and...

… All I want, would give anything for, really, is to see him.

I could knock on the door solely in the name of seeking an update on Benji and, assuming of course he could bring himself to even speak to me, perhaps I could apologise again, or, I don't know, perhaps I could simply beg to remain in his company.

Anything.

I'd...

… Take anything.

Realising, just as I can feel my hand reaching for the door, that I'm only indulging in delusional, if not desperate, fantasies, I quickly pull my hand back and, with my heart beating in an oddly erratic fashion, step over to the door that will take me into my own room. Unlocking it with the key card, I walk into the room and, as I go to close it behind me, realise that it's finally happened and I've officially lost what was left of my tenuous grip on reality.

That, and as I've never really wanted to see the inside of a mental health ward this would have to be the preferred option, or I've somehow managed to let myself into the wrong room. Unlikely, sure, but how else do I explain the medium sized fibre optic Christmas tree, all lit up and cycling merrily through its range of colours, set up next to the flat screen television set, or the equally bright and colourful strands of lights draped seemingly haphazardly over the closed curtains? Or the fact that the lamps on the bedside tables are both on and bathing the rest of room in a warm, inviting glow?

Or...

… The... too-astonishing-to-be-real... sight of Will jumping up from his seat on the foot of the bed and striding towards me with his arms outstretched. 

Being nothing if not a master of thinking on my feet, I accept with no hesitation whatsoever that if this is what losing my marbles feels like I'll take it gladly, I slump willingly into Will's waiting arms as he reaches me and hug him tightly. Time then seems to stand still as we silently embrace. It's such a comforting, familiar feeling, Will's body pressed warmly against mine, that for a few all too brief moments I give myself fully over to it. Real or not, and the jury in my head is still out on that matter, it's spectacular, and needed, and the best thing to have happened to me in far too long, then...

Reality has to go and kick in.

I mean, of course it does.

Even if Will really is hugging me and resting his head on my shoulder, he has to be doing it for a damn good reason. Like, I don't know, something bad has happened or...

Shit! Benji!

Reluctantly freeing myself from Will's embrace, I grab him none-too-gently by the shoulders and push him back. “Benji!” I exclaim, giving him what I just know has to be a wide-eyed, slightly panicked look. “If something has happened to...”

“Benji's fine,” Will interrupts, shrugging off my hands as, looking pensive, he avoids my gaze and looks instead in the general direction of my chest. “Well... As fine as can be expected given what happened and where he is.” Pausing, he lifts his head but still won't meet my gaze. “But, I... I'm not fine,” he continues hesitantly, “and I doubt, given what you've had to do today, that you're fine either. Ethan, I...” Falling silent, he shakes his head and takes a step backwards. “Sorry! You're wet and cold and probably just want a shower, and I... I'm hungry. So... Uh... Why don't you have a shower while I get changed and order up some food, yeah?”

“Will...”

“Please. Just... Already well on the way to fucking this up, I just need a moment.”

Resisting, and I'm actually proud of this given how Goddamn confused I am right now, the urge to either grab him by the arm or plead to know just what's going on here, I simply nod and move towards where my bag is lying on the floor. “Do you want me to come to your room after my shower?” I query in a measured, neutral tone that has nothing in common with the mass of emotions swirling in my head.

“No. I'll come back here,” Will replies as, gesturing towards the tree and the lights, a brief, possibly slightly embarrassed looking smile flashes across his face. “As you can see, this is now the Christmas room and... uh... it makes sense to make the most of it.”

“Oddly enough, I... can... see that this has become the Christmas room,” I comment with a quick smile as, still wanting to play things as calmly as possible here, I crouch down and start digging around in my bag for something to put on. “Clearly you've been busy.”

“Not really. I decided that I wanted some decorations for Benji's room and the shop I ended up in was having a buy one, get one free deal, so... That's all. I had extras and...”

“Waste not, want not,” I finish, glancing up from my bag as Will goes to open the interconnecting door between our rooms. “Makes sense to me. Oh! And it was nice of you to think of decorating Benji's room. I bet he appreciated it.”

“Well, it is Christmas,” Will murmurs, pulling the door open. “Just... Have your shower and... we'll talk, yeah...”

“Sounds good.” Grabbing jeans, briefs and a dark grey long sleeved t-shirt from my bag, I stand up and, as Will disappears through the door and into his room, walk over to the bathroom. Although I still feel a little bit too much like I've fallen down Alice's rabbit hole, I'm just going to go with it and see where it happens to take me. Will will either be waiting in the room after my shower or, even if he's had a change of heart and decided he no longer wants to finish what he's started, I'll go to him and, one way or another, we'll talk.

We'll talk, and I'll do what I can to get to the bottom of what's going through his head, and – as is always the case – what will be will be.

Not wanting to get ahead of myself or to imagine scenarios that are still most likely far fetched and improbable though, I deliberately empty my mind of all thoughts other than those focussed on the task at hand and quickly go through the motions of quickly showering and drying myself. Once dressed, I walk out of the bathroom and, as a small part of me didn't really believe he'd be there, actually breathe an audible sigh of relief at the sight of Will standing by the small table in front of the window.

“As the kitchen is particularly busy tonight, there'll be around a forty-five minute wait for our meals,” Will states, picking up a white ceramic pot from a tray on the table and filling the two matching cups that are there with coffee. “By way of apology they offered some complimentary coffee which, seeing as I don't think it would be a good idea if I hit up the mini-bar tonight, I accepted. If, however, you...”

“Coffee works for me,” I reply, cutting him off as, getting the impression it's where I'm meant to go, I take a seat at the table and reach for the closet cup. “Will...”

“Ethan, please,” Will interjects, picking his own cup up as he moves to stand directly opposite where I'm sitting. “I know that I'm confusing you, and that... uh... I run the risk of making no sense at all, but, please... I need to be able to do this in my own way.”

“Which is with me keeping my mouth shut?” I offer with an unbothered shrug as I take a sip of coffee. This being just about the last way I ever expected to spend my evening, let's face it, my only response to Will if he told me to jump would be to ask how high. He's the one in charge here, and wherever he leads I'll follow without question. Not because it's the least I can do considering the pain I've caused him, but because be it rightly, wrongly, or just plain stupidly, I'm beginning to see a dim light at the end of what's been a very dark tunnel. “Just... You're in charge here, Will. Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. Never having thought that you'd even speak to me again, I... I'm in your hands.”

“You don't have to keep your mouth shut. In fact, there will probably be times when keeping silent would be the wrong thing to do entirely, but...” Putting his cup back down without having taken a drink, Will both sighs and shrugs. “Already floundering here, just... let me talk and I'll try my hardest to make sense to you.”

“Then...” I hold my cup up towards Will as though in toast. “The floor is yours.”

Nodding his acceptance, Will closes both his hands around the back of the chair and, with another sigh, makes a point of looking me in the eye. “I know I shouldn't be asking this, that I should just... get to the point already, but I'm going to ask you something, Ethan, and I need to know that you'll answer truthfully. Not... what you think I want to hear, but the truth.”

“Ask me anything and I promise I'll reply truthfull,” I readily respond as I'm caught fast by the determined yet at the same time oddly hopeful looking expression on Will's face. “No lies, tricks, or games, just the truth.”

“Okay.” Releasing his hold on the chair, Will takes a step back and folds his arms across his chest. “While a part of me wants to lead in here with... did you ever,” he murmurs, “I'm going to stick to my original... vague-as-hell... plan, and go with...” Pausing, he takes a deep breath and fixes me with a steady look. “Do you still have any feelings for me? I need to know if I'm only wasting my time and making a fool out of myself, so...”

“If I told you I stood outside your room, wanting nothing more than to see you, to just... be with you, however momentarily, when I got back to the hotel this evening, would that answer your question?” I reply, putting my cup down and leaning forward to hold Will's gaze. “I'm not trying to be facetious as it's the truth. Will...”

“Then why didn't you?” he queries, frowning slightly as he cuts me off. “Ignoring the fact I was already waiting in your room, why didn't you knock? I still would have heard it and either opened your door or gone back into my room to open mine.”

“Because...” I sigh and lower my gaze. “The reason I didn't knock was because I knew you wouldn't want to see me and I didn't want to annoy you.”

“And there, right there, is a prime example of...” Falling silent, Will shakes his head and softens his stance slightly by unfolding his arms and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Sorry. I seem to be straying into the territory of doing the one thing I didn't want to, and that's jumping all over the place. So... Although I think I got my answer, just to be clear...”

“Of course I still have feelings for you,” I finish plainly. “Will, I... Regardless of how it looked or.. felt... like, I've never, not for a second, stopped loving you. I did what I did not because I'd stopped loving you, but because...”

“I know why you did it,” Will interrupts. “I'm not saying it helped make me feel any better, but I've always known the reason behind your disappearing act, and even why you did it in such a fucked up way.”

“Because I'm an idiot?”

“No. Because you're... you. And that's a..” Stopping himself again, Will pulls his hands out of his pocket and, with yet another sigh, takes a seat in the chair opposite mine. “As I nearly went off track again, let me explain to you what's behind this admittedly random change of heart.”

“Let me guess, this is the point where I just shut up and listen?” I offer, trying not to wonder too much about whatever it was he'd been about to call me.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Will confirms, curling his hands around his coffee cup and gazing down at it. “Apart from when I went out to look for decorations, I spent the entire day with Benji in his room inside ICU. Now, although, as you saw, his room is an actual room with four walls and a door, it's not exactly soundproof and, well, as Benji spent a lot of the time sleeping I got to hear a lot of what was going on in the ward. And... Look. I know it's a hospital, and it's not as though I don't know about death and suffering being part and parcel of life, but, I... Whether today was an especially bad day, I'll never know, but, oh God, Ethan, it was awful. What I saw and heard, the... the lives that were lost, it all just got to me. The loss and the unbearable pain, the unfairness of it all, the... stories... that, without wanting to, I felt a part of, it... It all just made me think about needing to try to live a life of no regrets because when it's over, it's... over in an instant.”

Pausing, Will takes what looks to be a much needed sip of coffee before, his expression solemn, placing his cup back down on the table and continuing. “Four people died today as I sat, feeling both at a loss and useless, in Benji's room. One, an elderly woman surrounded by about a dozen members of her highly emotional family, passed away after a lengthy battle with cancer. Another, a middle aged man, died from a seemingly intentional overdose. His wife became so hysterical when she was told of his death that they had to sedate her. Then there were the two who died as a result of unfortunate accidents. One was a vagrant who had been hit by a car and who the staff were struggling to even identify, and the other... Shit!” 

His eyes suddenly welling with tears, Will tilts his head back and, blinking, stares up at the ceiling. “She... She was only twenty-three,” he eventually continues in a shaky sounding voice that tells me he's finding sharing this to be difficult. “The other driver, who I think I overheard was both drunk and unlicensed, walked away from his wreck with barely a scratch, but she, although the trauma team threw everything they had at her, didn't stand a chance. Her airbag not having deployed, her injuries were just too extensive and she died before any of her family could make it to the hospital to say goodbye. Now, if all of this wasn't quite bad enough, her boyfriend had been going to propose to her tonight. Not wanting to impose on her parents, he was struggling to keep it together outside of Benji's door, and... What else could I do, huh? I went out to offer what insignificant comfort that I could, and that's when he showed me the ring and told me he'd been going to ask her under the huge Christmas tree in Unirii Square. The... The ring was tiny, but it was obvious he was so proud of it, and... Damn it, Ethan! She was never going to get to wear it, and... and...”

“It was too much,” I whisper, taken aback as much by the raw emotion in Will's voice and expression as I am at how sad the deaths of these unknown people is making me feel. I wasn't there, and I doubt I would have paid as much attention to the goings on inside the ICU as Will clearly did, but having now listened to him talk about them, I get it. I get why the day would have taken a lot out of him. I even think I might be on the right path in regards to where it's taken him, but that of course remains to be seen and I know I have to continue to take a back seat and let Will lead the way.

“It was all too much,” Will echoes. “From the pointlessness of some of the deaths, to the hideous grief tearing apart those left behind, to... the fact that it's Christmas! It just got to me and made me think. Made me think about a lot of things, actually...”

There being nothing I can think of saying that wouldn't smack of merely stating the obvious, I take a sip of coffee and, as Will composes his thoughts by staring down at his hands, wait for him to go on.

“One line of thought of course goes pretty much without even having to say it,” he states after a minute or two of more contemplative than comfortable silence. “Life is fleeting, Carpe Diem and all that. Don't get me wrong, it's an important... fact, if you like... to remember, but after what I've been through today, albeit only on the periphery, it's not... all there is to it.” Pulling the sort of face that tells me he's struggling to find the right words, Will stands up and shifts his chair closer to mine. He then sits back down and, as I half turn to better face him, reaches out his hand and closes it around my wrist. “That man today, the one who was going to propose to his girlfriend, there was nothing he could have possibly done to have saved her. Ethan, do... do you hear what I'm saying? She was on her way to work, whereas he'd already been in his office for hours. It was just, that is, it was... meant... to be a normal day. Their place of work, or hours, weren't any different to any other working day, and there was nothing he... or anyone for that matter... could have done. I'm not going to sit here and subscribe to the 'it was just her time to go' school of thought as that's not where I'm trying, possibly badly, to go with this, more... It was just one of those things. Horrible and devastating, and completely out of his hands. He loved her, and there probably wasn't a thing he wouldn't have done for her, but he couldn't protect her, not from everything...”

Trailing off, Will tightens his grip around my wrist and gazes at me until, transfixed as much by what he's saying as I am the feel of his touch, I lift my head and meet his eyes. “Ethan, am I... making any sense to you? You can't, regardless of how much you might want to, or even the effort and sacrifice you put in to it, protect everyone you love. Sure, it's a noble mindset, and to a degree we all have that desire to protect, but you...” 

Sighing, Will releases his hold on my wrist only to place my hand flat before before entwining his fingers with mine. “You take it too far. You take your... instinctive... need to protect almost to the point of martyrdom. Again, it's noble, but what it also happens to be is... an impossible dream. Ethan, you can't save everyone. Not all the time. You can try, and one day I'm afraid you'll die trying, but it still won't be enough. Nothing will ever be enough as, and you know this, one day we're all going to die. Hopefully not for another forty plus years, but I'm going to die. Whether you're by my side or thousands of miles away, it's still going to happen. The same goes for Luther, Benji, Julia, Ilsa... We're all going to die and you can't stop it. So... What I'm trying to get at here is that you've got every right to live your life for... you, not for everyone else. Just... Learn to be selfish! Don't push people away because you've convinced yourself that you've failed them and that they'd be better off without you. Put yourself first, apologise if you absolutely have to, but fight. Fight for what you want, protect where you can, and make your peace with it when you can't. You're only human, and, seriously, you more than deserve to live your life for... you. Not for me, or Julia, or even the world at large, just... you.”

“Will, I...” Unable to think of a single coherent thing to say, I shut my mouth and clench my fingers even more tightly around Will's. I hear what he's saying, and what's more I can even follow his, as usual, faultlessly logical thought process, but what I don't know is whether I can – break a habit of a lifetime – accept it. Yes. Everyone is going to die at some point. And, yes, using the poor man who lost his girlfriend today in a way that was totally out of his control was both inspired and thought provoking. But...

Is it enough?

I want it to be. As Will's blue eyes gaze into mine and radiate hope, I'd give anything to draw a very deep line in the sand and move forward, but...

What if he's wrong, and I don't deserve it? Given all the pain my 'must-protect-at-all-costs' mindset has cost him, why should he...

“Stop doubting what I've said and just accept it as both fact and, for you, a new way of looking at life,” Will declares as, his voice offering a welcome diversion to my caught-in-a-loop thoughts, I blink him back into full focus. “Ethan... Again, just listen to me. I know why you did what you did. I knew it then, and I still know it. Yeah, it hurt, and, okay, for a few weeks I did actually hate you, but... I get it. What's more, although it's in an different way, I'm no better than you are. You put yourself last for what you think is the greater good, and I... lie down and accept the hand I've been dealt because... because, like you, that's what I've always done and I don't know any better, but... No more. It's got to stop. If... If you honestly don't want me, then that's...”

“I want you,” I interject as, hearing Will doubt himself gets through to me better than logic ever could, the words finally fall with gratifying ease out of my mouth. “I never stopped wanting you and, you're right, I disappeared because I convinced myself that your life would be safer without me in it, not... not because my feelings had changed. I thought, even though God knows I could have gone about it differently, I was doing the right thing. Now...”

“Now...” Will prompts with a glimmer of a cautious smile. “Ethan, none of this was meant to put you on the spot or force you into feeling as though you have to flip a switch and change overnight. I'm here lecturing you, and I should add that when I got up this morning I was determined to keep my shields up and not let on how difficult I was finding doing the whole self-protective, keep-my-distance thing, not just because I've had a day of multiple epiphanies, but because I wanted to get it off my chest and clear the air. You're not to think I'm giving you an ultimatum or...”

“Actually, no...” Feeling, with no hint of exaggeration, as though an enormous weight has been lifted from my shoulders, I smile, a genuine smile that my facial muscles barely recognise, at Will and give a small shrug. “I'm good with being given an ultimatum.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Give me something I can give a very definite answer to.”

“Definite, huh?”

“Definitely.”

Rolling his eyes in a mock display of sufferance, Will leans forward and places his free hand on my knee. “Okay. Here goes nothing. Promise me that we'll work together to move forward from here, or...”

“Done,” I interrupt, my smile broadening.

“I hadn't even got to the threat part of the ultimatum yet,” Will retorts, laughing as he shifts even further forward in his chair.

“You don't need to as... Done,” I reply with a laugh of my own as, following suit, I lean close enough to Will that our noses are almost touching and I can feel the warmth of his breath. “I promise that I'll put everything I have into working with you to both undo the damage of the past and move forward.”

“In that case...” Removing his hand from my knee, he cups my cheek with his palm and brushes his lips lightly against mine. “Done...”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I wake to the sight of the still lit Christmas lights draped over the curtains and, as much to my relief as my lingering sense of disbelief, the reassuring warmth of Will's body curled around mine. It's now, even though I can't see the time and am simply going on my internal body clock here, Christmas Day, and...

… It's real.

Last night really did happen, and Will really is sleeping next to me.

I'd pinch myself, but as that would require moving from my beyond comfortable position, I'll just have to mentally shake off the last remnants of doubt and accept it as glorious fact instead.

It really is real.

It shouldn't be, given how I both instigated it and did extremely little, if indeed anything other than count my lucky stars and readily proclaim my newly found dedication, to rectify it, but Will's not only forgiven me but he's also adamant that he wants to try again. And I know, that in order to make it work like we both want it to, I have to fight in a way that's completely new for me. Instead of fighting to always succeed in whatever task I've been given, or to protect those I care about regardless of the personal cost, I have to, as Will pointed out, fight for... me. I have to fight for what I want, and...

What I want, what I never stopped wanting, is Will.

He is, and pretty much always has been since he first joined the team after the Cobalt mission, the best thing in my life and I know, being able to speak from seven months of – self-imposed – experience here, that I'm lost without him. He's my best friend, frequent voice of reason, an oasis of calm in a sometimes turbulent and depressing world, and if that wasn't enough, he's also my lover. What I also know, and this time I'm going to give everything I have to make sure I never forget it, is that I'm lucky – devastating circumstances notwithstanding – to have been given this gift of a second chance.

We talked for hours last night before falling into bed and slowly reacquainting ourselves with each other's bodies. No subject was avoided, and nor were any hard truths glossed over. Clearly having a far better insight into how my mind operates than, foolishly, I'd ever given him credit for, I didn't have to spend much time justifying my actions as he already knew. In fact, he'd always known. He'd also not planned to lower his guard around me for fear of where it might, be it self-loathing for having fallen for a one-night-stand or the regret of harsh words shouted in haste, have led, and would have continued going out of his way to avoid me if not for what he'd witnessed in the ICU and how it had made him feel.

Carpe Diem.

Seize the day and live for the moment because, really, you never know when it might be your last.

Of course I still want to protect Will, and deep down there's still a part of me that will forever think he's safer away from me, but that's just how I am. I'm also a fighter though, and this time I simply have to fight my own demons in the high stakes name of personal happiness.

And, because I have to, I will. There will be times, because that's just the world we operate in, that it won't be easy, and assuming Will meant what he said about returning to the IMF I'll probably have to handcuff myself to his bed to stop myself from instinctively fleeing should he ever get injured. You know what, though? So be it. I just have to take what I've been given and both cherish, and fight for it.

“What's the time?” Will queries groggily through a yawn as, lifting his head up from its position on my chest, he smiles up at me. “Oh... And by the way, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” I reply, more than happily returning his smile as – never exactly having been a morning person – he groans and struggles into a sitting position. “Sleep well?”

“The best I have in months,” he responds, leaning back against the pillows. “You?”

“Like a log.” Sitting up, I turn the bedside lamp on before picking up my watch and, after checking the time, placing it on my wrist. “It's twenty to seven, so we've still a while before breakfast arrives if you want to have a sleep in.”

“I do, but...” Yawning again, Will throws his side of the bedding back and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Places to go, people to see. Oh!” He glances over his shoulder at me and, looking far more awake and alert than he did only a moment ago, beams. “I've just remembered that I've got a present for you,” he states, standing up and going over to his bag.

“A present? You... You shouldn't have.” As in, he... really... shouldn't have as the thought of having a present to give him had never once crossed my mind. “Will... I... I'm sorry, but I didn't get anything for you.”

“Given how things were between us yesterday morning, why would you?” Will retorts, pulling a brown paper bag out of his case and walking back over to the bed. “Trust me, it's fine. I never expected a present and only have this for you because, well, it's something I'd set in motion way before your.. uh... brain fade.”

“My brain fade, huh?”

“Can you think of a better way to put it?”

“Uh... Not really, no.”

“Then... Brain fade, it is.” Settling himself down on the side of the bed so that he's facing me, Will smiles shyly and holds out the paper bag. “Merry Christmas, Ethan. I truly hope you like it.”

Taking the bag from him, I reach inside and pull out a small, plain picture frame made out of a classic, dark stained wood. I then gasp as, turning it over, I take in the exquisitely painted image of an all-too-familiar farmhouse safely contained within the glass and, as is happening far too frequently, don't know what to say. The farmhouse, which is both old fashioned looking and a touch on the decrepit, weather beaten side, was the one I grew up in and seeing it all but brought to life by the artist's considerable skill is literally taking my breath away. “How...? Will...”

“Remember that time I was breathing over your neck as you went through your safe looking for a particular passport?” Will replies, watching me closely for what I can only suspect are signs of shock. “Because that's where you keep it, the photo of your old house fell out and, no doubt only because I put you on the spot, you explained both what it was and why it was in there.”

“I... did?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Oh...” Although I know the photograph Will's referring to, I can't recall ever having talked to him about it and wish that I could. “This painting, it's...”

“Basically a direct copy of the photograph,” Will finishes with a nod. “Your phone went and you left me holding it, so, thinking fast, I took a photo of it because I wanted to work out a way that you could display it without worrying about some asshole breaking into your home and, after working out its location, threatening your family. And... This...” He gestures at the painting. “Is what I came up with. I found an artist to not only copy the photograph, but to also paint three other random farmhouses so that you can display them on your wall in a group. You know, so hopefully they just look like a collection of meaningless paintings. The other three are still at home though as, while this one was always going to be yours, even if I had to post it or send it through Benji, I hadn't made up my mind about the other three yet. Obviously I'll now give them to you once we're back in D.C., but... As for this one? Well, once I'd decided to come to Bucharest with you for Benji, I just shoved it in my bag while packing, hence... uh... the... lack of proper wrapping...”

“It... It's perfect. Just... Everything about it is seriously perfect,” I murmur, touched almost beyond reason by Will's thoughtfulness. From the initial idea, to going so far as to have other paintings done so I can hang it on my wall without feeling paranoid about anyone being able to link me to it, to... bringing it with him to Bucharest, it just displays an inherent degree of goodness that I doubt I'll ever be able to aspire to. “Will, are... are you sure I'm what you want? I mean, God knows you can do better than...”

“Hey! That's enough of that,” Will interrupts, giving me a warning look even as he shifts closer and plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “Of course you're the one I want, and... It's just a present, not a competition. Besides, it's not as though I painted the thing myself anyway.”

“Still...”

“Uh! Keep this up and I'll start to regret ever having given it to you.”

“Sorry.” Smiling sheepishly, I close my hand around Will's upper arm and lean in for a proper kiss. “It's just that it really is perfect and I feel awful for not having anything to give you.”

“Maybe you already gave it to me last night when you agreed to my ultimatum,” Will responds with both a smile and an unbothered shrug as he takes the picture from me and returns it to the paper bag. “Come on. Let's have a shower and get dressed so that once breakfast is out of the way we can go and see Benji.”

“And... Just like that, you prove, yet again, that your mind operates on a level far above mine,” I reply, meeting Will's slightly concerned gaze and smiling. “Don't for a second think that I won't be getting you a gift when I can, but, you're right. Let's shower...” Pausing, I glance at my watch to check to see if we've got enough time before breakfast arrives and, quite literally out of nowhere, it hits me.

An idea.

One that, granted, could benefit from a little finesse, but an idea nonetheless and one that I'm just going to grab on to and run with.

Taking my watch off, I place it in Will's palm and, as he gives me a bemused look, close his fingers around it. “Here. I want you to have this.”

“Your watch?” Opening his hand, he peers down at the watch and shakes his head. “Ethan... Seriously. You're under no obligation to give me a gift today and while it's a great watch, one that I'd be happy to wear, it's...”

“The watch is just a... visual representation of my real gift,” I murmur, cutting him off with a laugh as he gives me an openly curious look. “I know, I know. It's spur-of-the-moment, and knee-jerk and all of that, but... what it also is is... real. Will...” Taking his hand, I once again close his fingers around the watch and, this time, clasp his hand between both of mine. “What this watch represents is... time. My time. It's yours to count on, call on, and... take for granted. If you ever need me, or even just want me, I'll be there for you. You have my word. Will, I'm... I'm yours.”

“What you are is... claiming the mantle of best gift giver,” Will replies in a voice thick with emotion as, pulling his hand free and dropping the watch on to the bed, he slides his arms around my waist and hugs me tightly. “Thank you... Thank you for, against the odds, managing to make this the best Christmas ever...”

Shifting into a better position to hug Will back, I rest my forehead against his and am suddenly reminded of what Director Sloane said to me in the foyer of Langley.

Christmas miracles.

It's true.

They really do happen.

~ end ~


End file.
